Blueshift
by Eulerian
Summary: Or had always liked the stars.


That time moved differently for Or was not a detail she understood until her childhood playmates started producing progeny of their own. Ten in body and fifteen in mind, she was twenty in Earth years when she really took notice of the carefully manufactured bubble that she lived in, of the people who watched her like distant gods tending to ants. The interactions she had with human children were scattered like breadcrumbs in her memory, cold trails leading to absolutely nowhere at all and bonds that faded into the background as if part of the scenery. The pace of a human life mocked her, moving on and on without a single glance back. She was not old enough to know that the this feeling was called regret and that it was natural. Instead, she threw it away, because sometimes life was better lived in ignorance and she might have been inadvertently sheltered with the idea that she could outlive most of her problems.

Her father, grumbling and fretting and tending to the slightest of pains, was an offworlder. Technically her mother had been too; her cradle had been among the stars and she had touched foot on the planet all of once in her entire life. Red-blooded and red-haired, she had been returned to her favorite sun after her death. Or's father raised her on stories of that woman in return, of how he had met her while slumming it on some backwater planet and how she had been so clever and strong. They had been on opposite sides of a job gone south and he made no secret of the fact that their first meeting -and several others following- ended in a barrage of gunfire. In the end, she had won his heart messily, running him right through with an injury that ended his days as a freelancer. The next time they saw each other, he surrendered to a wary peace which eventually grew into mutual respect and support. Decades later, it still showed. Even as a child, Or saw the way his eyes would instinctively slide away, seeking input from somebody who was no longer there. And if all of their family pictures were taken slightly off center, as if compensating for some invisible presence, well. Even offworlders had religions of their own. Or's lullabies were hymns to the god of eternal rains, the master of the dead.

She never truly learned how to be human but neither did she really try. Her father did his best to impose human standards onto her but his understanding of human behavior only went as far as her mother, who seemed to be an outlier in that regard. Most people did not end up disemboweling their future spouse with the rusted end of an old pipe. He reminded her of this constantly, hasty words accompanied by glazed looks into the distance. Later, Or would realize that it was a bit of a traumatic incident for him. Awe-inspiring, yes. But also tremendously traumatic and worthy of therapy which he would never accept because some things were more important than the state of one mind.

The most important lesson that Or learned as a halfbreed was that nobody had any idea how nicely her genes were going to play along and what that meant for her future development. Her birth had killed her mother, after all, even under her father's steady hands and care, and halfbreeds were few and far between on Earth. Her father's species made things especially difficult. Homeworld, as her father called it, was across the galaxy and so ridiculously out of reach of human spacefaring technology that it was a miracle he had even gotten within a light year of her mother. Or quickly came to the understanding that this meant she was free to make up things as she went along. It was a lifelong lesson that would cause her seniors much grief. That and falling through the very holes of reality.

Focusing on the parent who was still alive and very much present, Or inhaled as many lessons about Homeworld as her father had time to prepare, though the odds were minuscule that she would see any situation to properly apply her knowledge within a human lifetime. It was unspoken between both her and her father that they would return one day in the future. There was little for them here on Earth, living among a species with barely a fraction of their natural lifespan. Her father stayed planetside only for her sake, so that she could grow up among her mother's people. Or appreciated the sentiment with childish responsibility but would not come to value the experience until years later, when she made real human friends for the first time.

Until then, life was restricted but stable, held together by government funding thrown together at the last moment in a desperate attempt to sink their claws into any offworlder "expert" available. His extensive travels -unusual for his species- meant that her father qualified several times over for this position. He took up residence in a medium sized office and turned it into a lab that doubled as Or's daytime classroom. Her mother had, apparently, once remarked that her father's intellect was better put to use in the field of modern medicine than the esoteric arts. As a result, Or grew up in a jungle of medical texts, some of which had made their way from far flung arms of the Milky Way. She played in the rain shadow of her father's exasperation -humans were set so much further back technologically, why?- and workaholic tendencies -it would not be an exaggeration to say that lives were risked every time he laid down to rest. She learned early on that she had no interest in being a doctor because of the sheer pressure but as her father reworked the human nervous system, she learned to map out the stars of neighboring nebulae and was happy for its own sake.

The problem with humans, however, was that peaceful stagnancy never lasted for very long. It was their flaw as a species, stemming from their all too short lives. At the age of thirty, Or watched as her father frowned over his latest assignment. That sharp twist of his lips was reserved only for instances of intense displeasure, marring his usual serenity. Or had only been witness to it several times before and she watched it in fascination.

"It seems I am being reassigned off-planet," he said at last. His mouth twitched even as his tone remained level.

Or's ears perked up in interest before falling back down. "Only you?" she asked after a thought. He would not have been so worried if they were to stay together.

Her father nodded, the frown deepening. "The humans are keeping quiet on the project. The details are vague. It is no place for a child, they say."

Or made a sound but did not disagree. By her father's estimates, she would remain a child for another few decades, though she seemed fifteen by human standards and her mind was a little more mature than that. "Will you be gone for very long?" Her father had taken assignments off-planet before but never for extended periods.

"Unclear. I am to leave by tomorrow." He sighed and scrolled through the report again on his pad. "It does not look like communication with outsiders will be allowed."

She blinked at him, not really comprehending what this would mean. Her father had been adamant since her earliest years that the two of them would not be parted for long. It had never been a problem because the human definition of "long" was rather short in comparison. "Shall I keep house, then?" Or asked, young and foolish. She was looking at the already neat stacks of books that lined the edges of the room. When she was overly idle, she would convert them to raw data. About half were already done. If she honestly devoted her time to it, she doubted that the rest would last for much longer.

"Do not trouble yourself," her father said dismissively. "Find time to fulfill your social requirements."

Or made a face at that. She was a citizen of Earth by virtue of having been born on its soil. Her father took that to mean that she try to occasionally fit in with its inhabitants, something that she attempted half-heartedly within their complex. It was easier to stay indoors and converse with her neighbors, government researchers and doctors who lived on site and were used to the presence of offworlders. Venturing outdoors meant dealing with the xenophobic public, still wary of what had happened with the Crogs and that one disastrous competition years ago. It was easier to ignore their existence.

"They are your people, too," her father reminded her, as if knowing her thoughts. "Give it another few decades and their feelings will change. Human memory is short."

"I am not worried about them," she lied.

He sighed again, this time a little more gently, and visibly hesitated before he spoke. "You lie like your mother." But something in his shoulders relaxed anyways, as if lightened from the burden of Or needing some sort of constant reminder that the woman had existed at all. There was so little of her left in the world that Or only found the tendency charming, if not a bit sad.

"I could not possibly lie like you," Or protested, refusing to let the mood darken. "You never lie." That was one of the many things she loved about her father. He gave her the truth, even when it was hard. Where it was unwanted, it was probably needed.

His eyes flickered to her. For a moment, his gaze was dark and contemplative. "You are young yet," he warned.

Or shifted uncomfortably but held her ground, staring back. "Then let me know when you start," she said, jerking her chin impudently. "That would be nice." The last part was added somewhat self-consciously as her bravery receded and she recognized her rudeness.

Her father shook his head. Seeming to think better of something, he merely pointed to the door instead. It fell open at his gesture. "Social requirements," he chided. "You should try leaving the compound for once. It would be good for you to walk amongst the humans."

"Maybe next month," Or protested. Go out so suddenly on a whim? She could not possibly do that, it was far too short notice. "It will be colder and nobody will look twice at me." The winter months on Earth were her favorite despite the cold; those were the times when it was perfectly acceptable to see somebody completely swathed in layers of clothing. On a good day, she could pass for a pale, sickly looking human as long as she wore a shapeless enough headscarf. What bothered her, however, was that she had to pass at all. Something in her wanted to believe that it would be different on Homeworld but she doubted it. Sometimes people were merely people and that fact could not be changed.

Still, she dutifully left her seat and maps behind to wander the hallways of the compound, greeting the few faces she recognized and distancing herself from the ones she did not. Over the decades, she had seen countless humans cycle in and out of the building, only a handful of whom stayed long enough to form any lasting impression on her. Her favorites were the rambling ones, the ones who so overflowed with ideas and knowledge that they could not help but try and convey it all to her. That was how she learned the most about humanity, its culture and history. Earth was a much more divided population than most offworlders knew. There was a central leader of sorts but the position was ultimately meaningless on a global scale and equipped only to deal with intergalactic threats. On a day to day basis, each individual country still held its own offices and heads. That the rules of one country did not equal the rules of another was a headache to deal with, though Or knew from her father that the problem was not one isolated to Earth.

She slipped from one room to the next, peeking in at their occupants before deeming them boring and moving on. Truthfully, the compound as a whole had lost her interest decades ago. There was only so much a person could find interesting in any particular place before it started to drive them mad. An itch was starting to claw at the corner of her mind, one which told her to get out and do something meaningful with her life. Belatedly, she was realizing that perhaps her avoidance of the outside world had hurt her in that regard but the way she saw it, all the paths before her ultimately added up to nothing of consequence. It was frustrating some days, tolerable the rest.

What she needed, Or supposed, were more hobbies. Idly bringing up an image in her mind, one blink of time was all it took to find herself in the compound's storage unit, materializing next to a clearly startled employee who stared at her with wide eyes as she blinked owlishly back. He was nobody she had taken notice of before, a dark-skinned man quite a bit shorter than herself who wore a white lab coat. After a few moments, she bowed her head in apology and would have continued on her way if not the stuttered rendition of her name.

"Khaiwen Lun Or?"

She turned back to him in surprise, answering reflexively. "Yes, is there something I can do for you?"

"Actually, if you don't mind," he said after a moment. Extending a nervous hand, he said, "Sorry, I'm Ethan Sinclair. My husband works with your father. Jeremiah Benson?"

"The name rings a bell," Or said, taking the hand warily and shaking it twice. Benson was what humans called Caucasian, with a head full of dark curls and grey eyes. He was a military doctor, one who tended to cycle in and out of the compound on various assignments. Her opinion of him was vaguely positive; he was severe, even when he had been young and new, and he treated her less like a child and more like a miniature adult.

Sinclair grinned, creating small creases across his face. Now that she was paying more attention, Or could see that he was perhaps two or three decades older than she had initially thought. "If you had any spare time, I was wondering if you'd be willing to help with something? We have a bunch of things that need to go out to a different location and fast."

"Is it outside of the compound?" When he nodded, she frowned a little. "I am not very familiar with outside locations," Or said. "I would have to have been at an area first before attempting to teleport there."

"It's in Nevada," Sinclair said, which would have been more helpful if she had known where Nevada even was. "In the United States."

Or looked at him. "We are in Canada."

"It's only an hour and a half by jet," Sinclair said, not looking put off by this. "You can be back in time for dinner. If what I've heard about your range is true, you'll only need a one way flight."

Magic was a strange variable. Her father had so little of it that most days, it was forgettable. By the standards of his species, he had told her, he was less gifted than average and thus was unable to aid her properly as her own abilities manifested. That was fine by Or, however, who never showed much talent for anything besides teleportation. Everything else simply seemed too hard and out of reach for her. What she could do, though, she made sure that she could do well. A single trip across the ocean to her birthplace in London took mere seconds, she was proud to say, if there was ever anybody to speak of this to.

"I am a child who has never been outside of this compound for longer than several hours at a time," Or said pointedly. But that was not necessarily a declination and Sinclair seemed to know it, if the widening of his grin was any indication. "I will surely need more information than that."

"It's a top secret government project that needed these supplies yesterday," the man told her. "Top secret enough, by the way, that I literally can't tell you more than that because I don't know anymore. But it would mean a lot to several of my higher ups if we could get this to happen."

"Sounds boring," she decided. "What makes this so different from the other top secret government projects all around us?"

"You'll have the eternal gratitude of useless politicians who will maybe send you a formal fruit basket in exchange for all your hard work?" At her unimpressed look, Sinclair sighed and continued, "I'm currently working on some new telescopes meant for use in deep space. The difference between these bad boys and, say, the Hubble, is that these are going to be fairly compact and small. My prototypes are maybe twice the length of your arm and still work as if they were acres in circumference. I could maybe be convinced to part with one of them if you did this huge favor for me."

"You must really want that fruit basket," Or said, but her interest had been thoroughly caught. "Can they take pictures?"

"All that and more, my friend," the man said cheerfully. "I can probably get it to you in a few days, if you don't mind waiting."

She nodded absently. "I will probably have to inform my father," Or said.

"It's more important that you go immediately, actually," Sinclair said, hastily cutting off that train of thought. "I've got a pilot who owes me a favor and a jet that can take you out in twenty minutes. I'll take care of Lun while you handle that."

"Father is very protective," Or protested, taking out her phone to quickly text a number. "I will let him know right now that I will be out for several hours." And that if anything suspicious happened, he could blame it on Sinclair and Benson. She was not particularly worried, however. No matter where she ended up, she could always bring herself back home in a heartbeat.

"All done?" Sinclair asked her after a few moments. She nodded and suddenly found herself being led away by a hand on her shoulder. Considering their difference in height, it was certainly awkward. "Thank you so much, by the way. I'm sorry this came out on such short notice but I had just about given up hope on getting it done and you seemed like the perfect solution."

She ducked away from the hand but kept following nonetheless. "It is no difficulty," Or answered warily. "I was only surprised. Few people choose to seek me out."

"To be fair, you're pretty reclusive," Sinclair said, sounding sympathetic. "By the way I've heard it, you just seem not to like people much."

Or thought it over. "That is not entirely incorrect," she admitted. "You humans are much different from my father and I. The outside world is better not paying attention to us."

"What a sad thought," Sinclair said, shaking his head. "You know, not even a century ago, people would have gone mad just for the opportunity to meet an alien. Now that you're here, it seems kind of wrong that you have to stay hidden just because we don't get along with one race in particular."

Or could only shrug. It was just as well; in no time at all, they arrived at the hangar, empty besides a single black-colored airplane. Sinclair moved towards a group of people shouting, "Edwards! Change of plans! I need you and this little lady in Nevada four hours ago!"

Somehow, Or could not find it in herself to share his exuberance. At least her social requirements were being fulfilled.


End file.
